Falling Slowly
by starsorts
Summary: Amian, post-first series, trio of oneshots. Three different takes on a first real Amy/Ian kiss. K-plus for kisses, fluff. Slight AU-ish–it's unlikely they'd be out of danger long enough to have these situations. Complete!
1. Words Fall Through Me

_A/N: Set sometime after the first series, possibly Ian attempting to win Amy back after Korea. (I know, I'm original.) The writing styles in these will be somewhat different from each other, as will the characterization–I'm experimenting. Slight AU, because these seem to imply that there's no more danger._

 _I do not own The 39 Clues series._

* * *

 _i. words fall through me_

"Amy!" Dan yelled. "It's another one!"

Amy sighed and closed her book with a reluctant _snap_. Maybe one day she would be able to make it through an entire chapter without being interrupted–imagine that.

She took the stairs two at a time and pulled the front door open to find a package, wrapped meticulously in lacy sparkly paper, sitting innocently on the front step.

Resisting the temptation to roll her eyes, she plucked the package from its resting place on the doormat and brought it in, shutting the door not-so-quietly behind her.

"Another one?" Nellie sighed as Amy passed through the kitchen. "What's in it this time?" Though Nellie was growing increasingly tired of the trails of glitter Amy had been tracking through the house, the packages often provided weeks of entertainment and teasing material for both the former au pair and Dan.

"No idea," Amy replied, "and I'm not sure I even want to know."

"Might as well get it over with," Nellie advised, turning back to her cooking. "Though I guess it could always have a freak accident with one of Dan's swords..." she mused.

"Thanks," Amy told her, a smile briefly appearing on her face, "but we're supposed to be promoting peace between branches. It wouldn't exactly look innocent if something bad happened to a package from the future leader of the Lucian branch while it was in the hands of the future leader of the Madrigal branch, would–"

"Sure, _that's_ what you don't want," Nellie grinned.

"Nellie!" Amy began to approach the color of the tomatoes Nellie was stirring into the meal. "It's not like that at all."

Nellie looked unconvinced, but let the subject drop for the moment. "Just open it, okay?" She would come back to it later, Amy knew.

Amy set the package on the table and swore that about half the glitter fell off right then and there. She figured Natalie had decorated all the packages–lace and glitter, shiny paper, and ribbons and frills just didn't seem like Ian at all.

To be completely honest, the gift was lovely–gold and jade teardrop earrings–and had they been from someone else, she probably would have accepted them in a heartbeat. With Ian, she only felt a growing sense of irritation from the gifts that seemed to be attempts to buy her back.

"What now, Nellie?" she asked, plopping herself down into a kitchen chair and resting her head in her hands.

* * *

Ian Kabra was feeling extremely confident. Cocky, some might call it, but no, that would be him believing he was the best, which he wasn't.

(To be fair, though, he was _one_ of the best. Kabras always were.)

Amy had probably received his gift by now, he realized. He was sure she would like the earrings; after all, they matched the necklace she always wore. The streets of Attleboro blurred quickly past the window of his limousine. No, nothing could go wrong.

* * *

After leaving the gift on the kitchen table, she had retreated to her room to be alone with her book. It had taken her awhile to get back into the plot and the characters, but even Ian Kabra couldn't stand between Amy Cahill and a good story.

And then the doorbell rang. Amy flopped back onto her bed, holding back a groan of frustration. "Can someone else get the door?" she yelled. "Anyone?"

Silence.

Amy heaved herself off the bed and regretfully away from her book. All was quiet for a few seconds. Peaceful, even. It wouldn't last long. She thumped down the stairs two at a time again–a warning call for anyone who dared to get in her way after her reading session had been interrupted–and undid the locks on the door, jerking it open with a brusque, "What do you want?"

Ian Kabra simply blinked. "I'd like to talk," he told her. "Might I come in?"

* * *

She had seated him on the back porch swing with a tall glass of lemonade, not saying much, but glancing back at him from time to time as she cleared several stacks of books and assorted weapons. He didn't try to make conversation. He didn't need to, Ian realized.

"So," she lowered herself onto the swing and stared off into the distance, "what was it you wanted to talk about?"

There was no rush here, Ian had decided. He remained silent a little while longer, looking to the horizon where Amy's gaze was directed.

"You," he finally blurted out. It was extremely unlike him to be so direct, to show his hand so early, he knew. Yet somehow it didn't matter all that much, not right now.

Her face was red now, she was absolutely sure of it. Forget coral or crimson or fire-truck red, she was probably past maroon by now. Amy couldn't remember the last time she'd blushed this hard. Or was it upon receiving the latest gift? She couldn't remember–all she knew was that her face was burning and Ian Kabra was smirking at her.

She wasn't surprised at either of these facts.

"And," she finally choked out, "why me?"

"Because," he said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Did you like the gifts?"

"Do you want me to be honest?" she sighed, "Or should I tell you what you want to hear?"

"So you didn't like them."

Amy covered her burning face with her hands, peering out at him every so often. "No," she murmured.

He took the news silently. "But I want you back," he told her quietly, amber eyes unblinking and unnerving. "And you don't want these gifts. And–"

"Ian." she turned her entire body to face him and a pleasant sort of warmth spread through her limbs. It felt amazing to deal with this problem head-on rather than avoiding it, like she might have before the clue hunt. "I don't want to be bought back. It's not–" she hesitated, then felt a great deal of bravery wash over her and forged ahead. "It's not that I don't like you," she felt her face grow warm after forcing the words out of her mouth, and he glanced slowly up at her, "but I just think … well, maybe you could try something simple, something free."

"Something free?" The look of doubt on Ian's face was priceless. "Like _what_ , exactly?"

"Like–" She could tell Ian was growing more impatient and irritated by the second, but she had dug herself into this hole and she was going to get herself out of it. "Like–"

And then neither of them were speaking, but their mouths brushed together in a way that Amy, despite her extensive knowledge of everything, could only describe as _beautiful_. She quivered as he circled her slowly in his arms, and after several moments, finally regained enough awareness to rest her hand against his almost-smooth cheek.

"Well," she murmured when they awkwardly broke apart, "I _was_ sort of thinking of an apology."

"But wasn't that better?"

There was a strained silence. Amy grew fidgety under Ian's gaze, and for lack of something better to talk about, she smiled slightly. "You still owe me an apology, you know."

* * *

 _A/N: These oneshots will be semi-AUs,_ _set after the first series_ _. I can't imagine there'd be enough peace in the Cahill lives for this moment, but it's fun to imagine anyway. I started these about two years ago, and have constantly been editing them. I figured I'd better post them sometime._

 _Thank you for reading :)_

 _-TimeTravel6_


	2. Raise Your Hopeful Voice

_A/N: Thank you all for your extraordinarily kind reviews and your follows/favorites/flamingos. This second oneshot is of a slightly different style–I hope you'll still enjoy it. Note that "Surprising" in "the business of Surprising People" is used as a verb, though it could be read as an adjective. (I hope that makes sense)_

 _I do not own The 39 Clues series._

* * *

 _ii. raise your hopeful voice_

He asks her what she's reading, which is odd to her because he's never really cared, at least, not that she's noticed. But she holds the worn book up and he silently nods his approval, which means that she can make another note on her mental list of Surprising Things Ian Kabra Does.

Although to be fair, Ian Kabra is practically the CEO of the business of Surprising People, so in an odd, twisted sort of way, she knows she should be used to it.

"She hated him at first," he tells her, after a moment or so of awkward silence has passed. "But you knew that, of course."

She nods, hoping that this emotional baggage they've been carrying around for years, this ... _thing_ is why he's talking to her in this way. They've both changed, after all, haven't they? They're more mature, more hardened by the real world. Still there's a little weight in her chest, pinning the furiously flapping butterfly down so all she can feel is the little flutter every time she glances toward him.

He sits against the couch, right next to her on the _floor_ of all places, and she raises her eyebrows slightly. She can feel the warmth of his breath on her neck and shivers begin their dance up and down her spine.

" _I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look, or the words which laid the foundation_ ," she reads softly, cautiously, and before either of them quite knows how or why, their sides are pressed together in a way that is really all too intimate for Amy to think about without blushing. So she doesn't and just feels, feels the firm warmth of his side against hers, how they seem to fit nearly perfectly together (even though they don't, _not really_ ), how she thinks she could be perfectly happy like this.

"She hated him," she murmurs. Her eyes flutter shut and she focuses on the sound of his breathing, more comforting perhaps than it should be.

"She hated him," he repeats, running his hands through the ends of her hair. "And then..."

She stiffens as she feels his fingers trail down her back and her eyes fly open because today, Ian Kabra's business of Surprising People is doing quite well. Not that she's complaining.

"But things changed," she breathes, daring to glance up at his face. Her heart is still the butterfly, desperately wanting freedom but not quite, and her cheeks are still burning, and she can feel more clearly–the soft push of the couch against her back and his long fingers pressing gently against her side. And she doesn't feel like plain old Amy Cahill any more.

In a burst of sudden bravery, she pulls his head toward hers and closes the distance between them. Their noses bump awkwardly along the way, but neither of them really cares at all, not _now_ , not when each of them has the other right where they want. He responds to her touch, holding her carefully, firmly, against his chest as her mouth brushes across his.

After some time, they pull away, trembling and blushing, and Amy wonders if this is how the lovers in all the famous stories feel, even centuries and centuries ago.

"Things changed," she repeats softly, lips still tingling and mind spinning.

"Yes." She can almost hear him smirking. "Quite."

* * *

 _A/N: The third and final oneshot will likely be of a more lighthearted style, more like the first._

 _Thank you for reading :)_

 _-TimeTravel6_


	3. Sing Your Melody

_A/N: Thank you so much for your kind reviews and favorites and...everything else! This is the third and final oneshot of the series. I imagine the Cahill mansion with communal bathrooms, like the ones at schools and public places, but way fancier and prettier. Post-first series. Also, I'm sorry it took so long! This piece, especially Amy's bit, is very close to my heart._

 _Also: there is one instance of slightly strong language in this chapter._

 _I do not own The 39 Clues series._

* * *

 _iii. sing your melody_

 **Ian:**

"Amy is in love with you," Sinead told him as they sorted the files from the weekly family meeting.

Slightly taken aback, Ian tried to speak, to say something–anything, "Er, no, she's not–" _That was all he could think of?_

"She is," she insisted, barely glancing up as she began packing up her bag.

"She's not," Ian insisted. "I heard you ask her–just last week."

Papers clutched haphazardly from her hand, Sinead froze and stared across the table at him in what Ian thought might possibly be disbelief. "Natalie's right," she told him slowly, "you really don't have much common sense."

"Sinead…" he began.

"You're sure you're a Lucian?" she squinted at him as if he were a buggy invention of hers. "I mean, besides the whole eavesdropping thing, I'm surprised your Lucian card hasn't been revoked."

" _Sinead…_ " he said firmly.

"Fine, fine," she resumed packing her bag. "Amy's not telling the truth, to you, to me, to anyone. Maybe she hasn't admitted it to herself. But she loves you–you can see it when you two are in the same room. She has this look on her face, and it's certainly not because of me."

"So any time a girl says something, I should take it to mean the opposite?" Ian asked warily. "That's the moral of the story?"

Sinead took a short breath and rolled her eyes. "Definitely not. Listen to her. Listen to everyone," she slung her bag purposefully onto her shoulder and made her way toward the door. "Just remember your Lucian upbringing.

"But you said–" he tried to call after her.

"Trust me," Sinead sighed as she rounds the corner, auburn hair whipping as she disappeared. "That's the moral of the story."

"Sinead, wait!" Ian Kabra did not run, or sprint, or anything of the sort, no, he _speed-walked_ out of the room and down the hall to try to catch her. Finally catching up with her and his breath, he forced out a breathy, "What do I do?"

Sinead paused, thinking. "Flirt with me," she said with a scheming grin.

" _Pardon?_ "

"Flirt. With. Me," she enunciated. "In front of Amy at the New Year's Eve party."

"Jealousy," Ian nodded slowly, the bare bones of a plan forming as he spoke. "I have an idea."

* * *

 **Sinead:**

Sinead Starling was awful at flirting, but Amy didn't need to know that.

 _Coy smile, body at an angle, sparkling eyes, pretty laugh_ _–check._ It felt mechanical, but only she would know. Hopefully.

Ian murmured something to her and she forced a giggle. _A giggle–_ Sinead Starling did not giggle. She was doing this for Amy, she reminded herself several times. Amy and Ian.

The party itself was spectacular, though. White and gold balloons drifted above the attendees and shiny confetti sparkled on the floor. Jonah was having fun deejaying, tossing more confetti and streamers onto the dance floor when the crowd thickened, and Ned and Ted had been dancing with Reagan and Madison Holt for the past few hours. It was twenty-five minutes to midnight, she realized, as she checked her watch. _Finally._

A quick glance to her left revealed that Amy was still sitting by the drink table, pointedly looking away from their display. That would not do at all.

Sinead giggled, louder this time, and though it sounded disgustingly fake, it did the trick. Amy looked over, and Sinead planted a large kiss on Ian's cheek.

 _Gross._

Sinead glanced to her left again hopefully, a smile spreading across her face as she saw an empty chair by the punch bowl.

* * *

 **Amy:**

This wasn't the way she had planned to spend her New Year's Eve–crying her eyes out in the last stall of the girls' bathroom in the Cahill mansion while everyone else was having a great time downstairs.

 _No_ , she reminded herself as she slowly unlocked the stall door and leaned against the cold marble sink. _Not crying._

She wasn't crying. She'd held her tears all evening until she absolutely couldn't take it any more and had to excuse herself. Splashing water on her face helped a little, both to calm herself down and to hide the tears that she wasn't crying. (She wasn't.)

There was absolutely nothing at all to cry over.

And then she almost had to laugh despite the tears that were finally escaping because the thought was so absurd. Amy Cahill crying over a boy? She had never thought of herself as the sort of girl who did that. Those girls were always the ones in the romance novels she had leafed through once or twice during her excursions to the bookstore. The girls in books had always been a world apart from Amy.

After all, they didn't ever have to worry about the most precious serum in history falling into the wrong hands or crazy family members who wanted to kill them. The girls in the fluffy romance novels had absolutely nothing to worry about, except maybe their boyfriends or their soulmates or _whatever they wanted to call them_ not loving them back or being a sparkly vampire or something. (Though to be fair, Amy would be a bit concerned if her nonexistent boyfriend sparkled.)

She shook her head slightly and scrunched her eyes closed, a futile attempt to clear it from those strange, unwanted thoughts, and tried to distract herself by staring into the mirror as she had seen Natalie do so many times.

Again, she had to bite back a nervous laugh. Where was this Amy coming from? She didn't recognize the the girl who actually cared about boys and how she looked and whether or not _he_ would notice how puffy and red her eyes were when she finally returned ( _if_ she ever returned) to the party. She was thoroughly tempted to stay up here until everyone left.

Footsteps suddenly sounded in the hall and Amy, out of habit, retreated to the far stall and locked the door. The _click_ of the lock seemed to echo off the hard tile walls and the slick marble countertops. "Amy?" she heard as the door to the bathroom opened.

Ian. Not exactly the person she wanted to see right now. Quite the opposite, actually. She clambered gingerly onto the toilet seat, arms outstretched in front of her and palms against the cold stall door, balancing as best she could in her party dress and shoes.

Maybe he hadn't seen her.

"Amy," he repeated.

She sucked her breath in silently, hoping for...she didn't know exactly what. That he'd go away? She knew it was a foolish hope. Kabras–Ian–never gave up.

"I know you're in here," he continued, pausing for a fraction of a second. "Sinead told me."

Damn.

"This is the girls' bathroom," she said quietly, trying to keep her voice from wavering.

"I am aware of that," he replied stiffly. "I'd hoped you wouldn't have taken up residence in the men's room." Amy tried to suppress a giggle as she imagined what Ian currently looked like, standing stiffly in the center of the girls' bathroom.

"Why are you here?" Amy asked.

Silence. For a moment, one hopeful moment, she thought he'd perhaps left.

"Why are you?" he countered.

More silence. "I don't know," she told him after a while. "I...um, feel sick."

"You're a terrible liar, Amy."

She sighed, "I know." The silence remained.

Glancing through a crack between the door and the wall of the stall, she saw that Ian was still standing rigidly by the entrance. _Fine then._ He could spend all night in the girls' bathroom for all she cared, but she wouldn't come out. She resigned herself to counting the tiles along the wall of the room.

 _One, two, three..._ maybe he'd leave soon _...ten, eleven, twelve..._ Amy had previously taken no interest whatsoever in the wall tiles chosen for this bathroom, but upon closer inspection, they seemed to be decorated with interweaving flower designs. Or maybe they were rocket ships. She wasn't exactly sure. _...thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two...now should she count the half-tiles?_

"Perhaps–" Ian coughed after a few minutes, "Er, perhaps we ought to go back down. It is nearly midnight, after all. Do you really want to spend the night in the ladies' room?"

"Yes," Amy replied shortly.

"Amy..."

"Please don't," her voice wavered against her will.

The bathroom door banged open then shut, and all was silent.

She breathed a sigh of relief and all but ran out of the stall to the sink, where she began splashing water on on her heated forehead and cheeks. It had gotten warm in the stall because, she assumed, of the heating vent directly next to it.

The cool water helped settle her nerves and racing thoughts a little and she pressed a soft towel to her face, glad that she had turned down Natalie's offer of a makeover earlier that evening. _The tears would have smudged it anyway,_ she reminded herself.

Amy leaned against the cold tiled wall and shut her eyes, thankful that the night would soon be over. Steady chanting rose from beneath her feet and grew to a loud roar as the Cahills downstairs welcomed the new year with air horns and candy and a spectacularly off-key rendition of "Auld Lang Syne."

 _Happy New Year, Amy._ She was glad to be alone for the beginning of a new year.

"Happy New Year, Amy." Or not.

Ian Kabra leaned against the wall opposite her, mimicking her position. His smirk just seemed to set the whole picture off, as if he just weren't Ian without it. He wasn't, of course.

"Really?" she asked, cheeks flushing and irritation crawling through her veins.

"I see I've ruffled your feathers," he replied.

"Ruffled my - what?"

"Isn't that what one would say in a situation like this?"

"You could always use the word 'annoy,'" she told him, unable to hold back a laugh despite her wish for her face to remain emotionless, or angry if anything.

"Hm. How plebeian."

"Plebeian?" Amy said. "Really? Because 'ruffling feath-'" she shook her head quickly. They could debate that point another time. "Never mind. It's not important. Why are you here?"

"Because." He sauntered across the room, closer... closer. She could feel his breath on her skin, heated. "Because..." The words flowed out of his mouth, smooth and molten.

Amy's breath caught in her throat and she was sure her cheeks were a fiery red. Still, her stare met his.

"Sinead asked me to come get you," he finally finished.

Amy stared. There was a funny feeling growing in her chest that made it especially difficult to breathe. Was it...disappointment? ...jealousy?

They were silent again. Her watch's ticking echoed rudely off the tiled walls and both pairs of eyes darted anywhere but where they really wanted to look.

"I apologize," he said, startling her. "For scaring you and for what happened earlier."

Ian Kabra apologizing? There had to be some sort of trick.

"Really," he told her. The door slammed shut and his shoes clacked down the hallway (it really happened, she made sure of it this time). But still...

Before she could lose her nerve, she pulled open the door and called after him. "Wait." Not loud enough. He didn't turn around. She ran down the hallway to the top of the steps. "Ian, wait!"

He finally turned around, halfway down the stairs, and stared, amber eyes...unreadable. "Yes?"

"Will it always be about Sinead?"

"Do you want it to be?"

"I-" Amy hesitated, "I don't know-" She scrunched her nose and focused her eyes decidedly on the dark curving banister of the staircase where...oh. Ian's hand was resting there. And there they were, all the thoughts of how his fingers felt between hers, long and slender, his thumb brushing across the palm of her hand, just by her wrist, the sensation coming back to her. She shivered.

He stepped up to meet her.

"What do you want, Amy?" Ian murmured. "Tell me. It's been..."

They were nearly equal in height at that moment - Amy on the top step and Ian on the next. And almost close enough to...

She tried to dismiss the thought, but Ian must have been thinking the same thing because before she could process the pang in her chest, his mouth was on hers, warm and caressing. It wasn't at all frantic and passionate and desperate like how they always ended up in her daydreams (not that she often drifted there) or cool and detached like his usual demeanor; it was more...sweet, if that was even possible with Ian. Yes, she decided, as they remained on the empty stairway–warm, sweet, hopeful. His hands ran along her sides softly, and she allowed herself, for once, to stop over-thinking. She brought her hands up to his neck, gently tugging him closer, and her body seemed to instinctively press against his.

 _Happy New Year, Amy._

* * *

 _Thank you for reading._

 _-TimeTravel6_


End file.
